


You Make it Goddamn Right, Jones

by dreamcatcherinwonderland



Category: Broadchurch, Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kilgrave just being his normal dick self, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamcatcherinwonderland/pseuds/dreamcatcherinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jessica Jones would do anything to capture Kilgrave, including taking tips from Hogarth. But what happens when that tip leads her to an NYC rooftop, knocking a look-a-like unconscious? Jessica Jones doesn't accept help from anyone, even if they're more than qualified, right? Right??</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. AKA Who's This Asshole?

AN: So, I’m just going to start off right now with this: this is complete and utter trash. I saw this gifset (I know, I know, I say that a lot) and it was Jessica JonesxBroadchurch crossover, and I just couldn’t fucking help myself. Because damn, do I love me some actor chemistry, but damn, do I hate me some Kilgrave and no one should end up with him because he is shit. Anyways, rant over, this is the next best thing I guess????? Whoops

Chapter 1- AKA Who’s This Asshole?

The familiar sting of whiskey coated the back of Jessica Jones’ throat. She slammed the tumbler back into her desk, sliding the paperwork she had been pouring over closer to her. 

She sighed. This was going nowhere. There had to be another way, another…

The door to Malcolm’s apartment opened, and he turned to look at her. She met his gaze, trying for some kind of sympathy, but she was too damn tired for any of it. Didn't he know she was trying everything in her fucking power to catch Kilgrave? No one on this Earth wanted it more than her. 

Malcolm looked at her for another split, tense second before shaking his head and stomping down the hallway to the elevator. 

Jessica sighed, pouring herself another full glass of whiskey and turning her attention back to the papers in front of her. She didn't have the time to figure out what was going on with him right now, she just knew he'd been off. 

He looked straight at the knife, like he was in some kind of trance, you know? He plunged it right into his heart even though everyone was screaming at him to put it down. He was possessed…

Jessica slammed her fist down on the desk, making it shake beneath her power. Goddamnit. How long had she been scouring these accounts? There was nothing that gave her any clues. Not any closer to catching Kilgrave. 

She reached for her mobile, dialing a number she knew by heart. It rang once, twice. Went straight to voicemail. Hmph. 

Text me back ASAP. Need to know if you've found anything. 

She threw the phone back into the desk, and she watched it spin around and around for a moment. 

Her phone buzzed, making her jump to read the new message. It wasn't Trish. It was Hogarth. 

She read it, smirking a bit. Jessica stood up, grabbing her jacket from the chair and putting it on. She took one last glance at the desk before smiling, and locking the door behind her.

This was it. She could feel it.  
……………...

She couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. Standing outside, on a New York City rooftop, for twelve hours in the dead of winter would do that to you. Jessica brought the frozen extremities up to her chapped lips, blowing hot air in a futile attempt to bring the circulation back to them. Where the fuck was he? 

Approximately twelve hours and thirty minutes ago, Jessica had received a text from Hogarth stating that the very man she wanted to find, Kilgrave, was at this location: 2234 Fourth and Broadway, Kilgrave, rooftop. 

Well, what the hell was she supposed to find on this goddamn rooftop? Jessica had scoured the whole thing what seemed like a million times, for any clues or traces that Kilgrave had been there. 

She sighed. Hogarth was probably getting her back for Wendy. 

She pulled the mobile out of her pocket, hoping that their might be a missed text from Hogarth. Nothing. Bitch, Jessica thought bitterly. 

There was, however, a text from Trish. 

Dinner at my place, 9pm, Chinese? 

It looked like that was her more viable option at that point. She was about to reply, telling Trish she’d be right over and abandon her attempts for the night when the door to the rooftop opened. 

Jessica retreated into the shadows, waiting with baited breath for a glimpse of her wanted man. 

He stalked out onto the rooftop, glancing around for something. Waiting, it seemed. He sighed, pulling a mobile out of his suit jacket pocket and pressed the talk button. 

“Yes, Miller. Who else would it be?” he barked. “I’ll tell you when.”

That was all Jessica Jones needed to hear. She curled her frozen fingers into a fist, charged right out to the man in question, and punched him square in the jaw. 

He looked surprised for a moment, before consciousness left his eyes, and he slumped to the ground. She pulled the needle out of her jacket pocket, slowly injecting him with Sufentanil. 

She smirked, pleased with herself. It would be a celebration dinner at Trish’s tonight, it would be...wait. 

Jessica frowned, reaching down for the wallet that spilled out of Kilgrave’s suit jacket. There was a license. It read Alec Hardy, somewhere in northern England. 

Fuck.

She stepped back, taking a closer look at her victim. His face was adorned with at least a week’s worth of scruff, something the real Kilgrave would never stoop down to. He was always meticulous about his grooming habits. His suit, she now noticed, wasn’t the chosen purple in color, or even expensive. It looking threadbare and navy, something a detective would wear.

Shit, shit, shit. What had she done now? 

Jessica gulped, reaching for her mobile and dialing the first person in her speed dial. 

“I need a ride, and I’ve got someone extra.”   
…………………  
Trish pulled onto the freeway, her hands gripping the steering wheel. She hadn't said a word since Jessica had dumped the Kilgrave look-a-like onto her back seat and told her to rush to her apartment. 

“It's not who you think,” Jessica explained wearily. “He's some kind of fucked up doppelgänger.” 

Trish glanced at her for a moment. “How can you be sure, Jess?” 

“It's not his style to create a whole life for himself, Trish. But until we see if this checks out, we’re keeping him in your panic room.” 

She sighed. “Maybe we should drop by a hospital first? I don't know what that drug can do to normal people.” 

“What if it is him, Trish? Then he’ll find some way to manipulate himself out of the hospital before we can even take him.”

“So, why my panic room, then?” Trish asked, glancing warily at the man in the back. 

“Easy to contain him,” Jessica replied, shrugging. “Just don’t go near him to be safe, alright?” 

Trish’s mouth set in a grim line, but she nodded once, tersely.

“Thank you,” she said seriously, placing her hand over Trish’s own. “I didn't know who else to call.”

Her gaze softened. “Of course, Jess.” She pulled off of the freeway onto the road leading towards her apartment. 

“I just don't want to let him go until I am absolutely sure he's not Kilgrave, or under his influence. Someone is still taking surveillance of me, Trish, and I will damn well find out who it is.” 

Trish sighed. “I get it.” She flicked her blinker to turn right into the parking garage, and turned off the engine. 

“Guess it's a good thing your doorman sucks?” Jessica asked, smirking. 

Trish rolled her eyes. “Lucky for you.” 

Jessica easily placed the man in her arms. “Just grab the door for me, Trish.” 

She slammed the car door and walked out in front of Jessica to open the lobby door. 

As expected, the doorman was slumped over the desk, snoring softly against the wood. Trish rolled her eyes. 

“You know, I would wake him, but I don't need questions.” 

“I don't understand why you don't just fire the asshole,” Jessica muttered, pressing the elevator button. 

Trish didn't comment, just stepped into the elevator.


	2. AKA The Scot, and No, Not Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec Hardy wakes up, and Trish convinces Jessica to become a reluctant duo.

AN: So, the action will pick up next chapter, I promise. There’s just a lot of dialogue to this chapter. Well, what can you do, right?

Chapter 2- AKA The Scot, and No, Not Whiskey

Jessica threw the Kilgrave look-a-like none too lightly on Trish’s couch. She pressed her ear right up against the scratchy, wool suit jacket he was wearing, trying to look for a pulse. 

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. 

Good, at least she hadn’t killed him. She wasn’t sure if she could handle any more innocent blood on her hands. However…

She frowned, pressing her ear harder against his chest. There was a slight electric buzz underlying the heartbeat, maybe a-

Fuck. 

“He’s got a fucking pacemaker!” she swore outloud, making Trish rush to her side. 

“Are you sure?” she asked worriedly, biting her lip.

“Of course I’m damn sure!” Jessica exclaimed. “Shit, shit. Grab the bottle of Sufentanil from my jacket, I want to read the side effects.” 

Trish hurriedly rooted around in her leather jacket pocket for the bottle, and handed it to her. “Here,” she proclaimed. 

Jessica took a deep breath, hoping it was what she wanted to hear. She glanced at the bottle, scanning down the small printed drug facts adorning the label. 

Side effects: dizziness, nausea, vomiting. Not to be used on people with heart conditions-

“Shit!” Jessica exclaimed, throwing the empty bottle against the nearest wall, where it shattered to the floor. 

Trish sighed. “You didn’t have to throw the bottle,” she pointed out. 

“Trish, no offense, I don’t give a damn about the floor right now. I’m lucky this asshole is still alive after how much I injected him with. He’s not even supposed to have any.” 

She stood up. “We should take him to the emergency room, then.” 

“Are you crazy?!” Jessica yelled. “We can’t do that, they’ll ask too many questions!” 

“Then..we leave him at the curb?” she suggested. 

Jessica sighed, pacing heavily back and forth next to his head. “I just want to give it another thirty minutes, if he hasn’t woken up then-”

But whatever she was about to say was cut off by a sharp intake of breath. 

“Woah, take it easy,” Trish soothed, placing a hand on his chest to push him back onto the couch. “Maybe you shouldn’t move for a while. You were unconscious.” 

“What happened?” he mumbled. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to have anymore of those episodes after the surgery.” 

Jessica cleared her throat awkwardly. “That’s kind of my fault. But, before we get into that, I have to ask you some questions.” 

The man’s chocolate brown eyes hardened into black orbs. “Not until you answer mine first,” he protested stubbornly. “I’m the one lyin’ on a couch, darling.” 

Jessica’s nostrils flared, her hand closing around his throat. “Don’t call me that!” 

Trish’s hand grabbed her wrist. “Jess, hey. Let’s hear him out first, okay? Not just Kilgrave calls you things like that.” 

Jessica closed her eyes, loosening her grip around the man’s throat. “Sorry.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and stepped back a few paces. 

“Who’s Kilgrave?” the man asked, looking between the two of them curiously. 

Jessica glared at his stare for a moment, trying to decipher anything that might give away he was lying, but all she saw was genuine intrigue. 

She sighed. “He’s a bad man that I’m trying to catch. He’s done a lot of awful things, and someone’s gotta make him pay.” 

He looked at her, a touch of something in his eyes she couldn’t place her finger on. “And that’s got to be you, does it?” 

 

“Yeah, actually,” Jessica said defiantly. “He’s my responsibility.” 

“Oh, Jess,” Trish said behind her. “This is not on you.” 

“Yes, it is, Trish!” Jessica insisted, turning to face her adoptive sister. “Every time someone gets hurt, it’s because he’s trying to get closer to me. Well, no more. It stops today, and no more innocent blood will be on my hands.”

“You want to make it right,” the man said gruffly behind them. 

She spun back around on her heel. “I have to,” she said. “I have to make it goddamn right.” 

He let out one, short, humorless bark. “Sometimes that’s easier said than done.” 

She glared at him for one more moment. “You’re Alec Hardy, right?” 

“Jesus,” he said, “new’s traveled all the way here, has it?” 

This time it was Jessica’s turn to be confused. “News about what?” 

“Nothin’,” he dismissed her. “How’d you know my name?” 

“Found it in your wallet, on your body,” she told him, “basic detective skills.”

“You’re a detective, are ya?” he asked, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “S’pose it would explain why I’m being investigated. But tell me, why are you lookin’ at me like you hate me?” 

 

Jessica sighed, pulling her mobile out of her pocket and going to her photo album. She kept going until she had found a picture of her culprit. She handed the phone to Alec. 

He glanced at it for a moment, before looking back at her. “I can see why you’d think I’m him,” he said. “What about the accent, though?”

“He’s British,” she explained, “and it kinda sounded similar when I only heard you talk for a few moments.”

“I’ve also got this killer pain in my jaw,” he lamented, rubbing it thoughtfully. “That you, too?” 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

“Well, Ms...what’s your name?” he asked. 

“Jones,” she introduced. “Jessica Jones.” 

“I came here for a holiday, and I don’t want any involvement, you got it?” 

“Fine,” she agreed easily. “I’m a one man parade anyways, you’d only slow me down.” 

He sat up quickly at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Jess,” Trish interrupted. “Can I talk to you for a second?” 

With another glance spared at him, Jessica sighed. “Yeah.” 

She pulled her gently by the arm towards the kitchen. “I think you’re wasting a valuable resource here.” 

“And what’s that?” Jessica asked. 

“A look-a-like could get you more information.” 

“How? Most people are too afraid of him,” Jessica reasoned. 

“Okay, but what about the ones still under his power? He could talk them into giving you more information.” 

“That’s a long shot,” Jessica said. “I’m just gonna send him on his way with a threat, and a warning.”

“Maybe that’s not always the answer,” Trish persuaded. “He’s a detective you said, right? He’s used to seeing this kind of stuff, so two people are better than one.” 

Jessica scoffed. “Not always.” 

“Here, maybe,” she said. “Look just give it a shot. Worst that can happen, it doesn’t work out. Then you can threaten and warn him, okay?” 

“No, the worst that can happen is he ends up fucking dead,” Jessica sulked. “But I guess, I could give it a shot. I have been hitting kind of dead ends. I was only there thanks to a tip from Hogarth, who I’m apparently never trusting again.” 

Trish hugged her. “Thanks, Jess. I feel a lot better knowing you’re not alone out there, trying to catch a psychopath.” 

“I can handle myself,” Jessica said. 

“I know,” she said, her gaze softening. “But you shouldn’t have to.” 

Jessica sighed. “You’re so lucky I love you,” she said. 

“I know,” Trish said triumphantly. “Hey, great news, Mr. Hardy! Jessica wants you on the case!” she announced, before sticking her tongue out at her and leaving the room. 

Hardy scowled. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to get involved.” 

“I know, I know,” Jessica said, “and I heard you loud and clear. Trish, however, thinks I need someone. Someone that knows what they’re doing.” 

“And that someone has to be me, does it?” he growled. 

“Look, I’m not thrilled by it either, believe me,” Jessica said. “I only like my Scots as whiskey.” 

His mouth quirked into a semi-smile. “When should I come by, then?” 

“Tomorrow,” she decided. “I’ll give you some time to rest. But I expect you at my office no later than 10am.” 

Hardy nodded, once. “Fine. I’ll be there. Address?” 

Jessica reached for a piece of paper and pen on Trish’s coffee table. She scribbled down her apartment number, and handed it to him. 

Hardy stood up and walked over towards the door. “Am I going to get my explanations tomorrow, Jones?” 

“We’ll see,” she told him cryptically. “Don’t be late,” she warned as she closed the door on him.


	3. AKA Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec learns the world is much larger than he imagined, and gets debriefed on what exactly he's doing with Ms. Jessica Jones.

AN: And now on to the two detectives actually trying to solve the case. 

 

Chapter 3- AKA Debriefing

Jessica Jones awoke to the sound of her cell phone alarm going off. The annoying tone cut through her semi-peaceful sleep. She groaned, rolled over to hit the snooze, and pulled the pillow over her head to try for a few more moments of rest. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen. 

A sharp knock sounded upon her door and she swore loudly. Jessica sat straight up in the bed and grabbed her cell phone to check the time. Shit, how many times had she pressed snooze already? It was 9:50. 

“I’m coming!” she shouted towards the hallway, quickly pulling on a pair of jeans and heading towards the door. 

She opened the door to the Scotsman eyeing her carefully, one eyebrow raised.

“This is your office?” he asked incredulously. “D’you sleep here?”

“So what if I do?” Jessica challenged. “I’m just trying to make a goddamn living in this city. That’s not a fucking crime, is it?” 

He regarded her another moment before sighing and shaking his head. “No, I s’pose not. What happened to the door?” He gestured at the broken glass framing her door. 

 

“We’ll get to that later, Mr. Hardy. For now, just sit in that chair and shut up while I debrief you.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t know who you’re used to dealin’ with, Ms. Jones, but I can assure you I don’t take orders. I give them.” 

“Then you won’t be employed for long,” she bit back. “I don’t take order from anyone, alright? Let’s just get that clear right now. Try to order me around, and I will snap your fucking neck with no remorse.” 

“Controlling ex-boyfriend?” he asked.

“Something like that,” she grumbled. “Now, are you ready to fucking listen or not? Because once I’m done explaining this case to you, there’s no going back.” 

Alec glared at her for another moment. “Only if it’s understood that I am not going to be your fucking lackey, Ms. Jones. I will do as you say, but only if I deem fit. I used to work for bloody Scotland Yard for god’s sake!” 

“Fine,” Jessica retorted. “Now, pay a-fucking-ttention.” 

He nodded curtly. “You may proceed.” 

She sighed before beginning. “A man called Kilgrave is out to make my life a living hell, and he doesn’t care who’s standing in his way to get to me. I want that to be understood first and foremost. I can’t guarantee your safety here, so I want to be sure you can handle your own, Mr. Hardy.” 

“I’m trained with a gun, if that’s what you mean,” Alec said, raising an eyebrow. 

“What about your mental strengths? Would you say they’re pretty strong?” Jessica hedged. “Are you easily persuaded by others?”

“What in the fuck all does that have to do with it?” Alec asked. 

“Just answer the damn question!” she exclaimed. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Hardy said. “I’ve never been persuaded by my accused.” 

“Good, then you’ll understand when I say that Kilgrave is an extremely persuasive and powerful man. Not many have been able to resist his powers, so I suggest you proceed in this investigation very fucking carefully.” 

“You talk as if the man has superpowers!” Alec scoffed. 

“And if he does?” Jessica asked carefully. “Do you believe in that kind of thing?” 

Hardy stood up from his chair. “What the bloody hell are you on about, darlin’? I won’t be involved with someone that believes in that kind of tomfoolery. I believe in justice, and cold, hard facts.”

“So, your mind isn’t open at all to the possibility?” she asked.

“It’d be somethin’ I’d have to see to believe, Ms. Jones, and as I-”

Jessica cut him off by throwing her desk at the far wall, leaving a mighty indent. 

Alec Hardy was gaping open-mouthed at the hole. “How did you-” he asked breathlessly. 

“I think you know how,” Jessica said. “I have super strength, Mr. Hardy. Kilgrave has mind control.” 

“Then how the fuck are we supposed to get him to do as we want?” Hardy asked. “No offense, Ms. Jones, but what chance to we have against that?”

“I have a plan,” Jessica told him. “And we’re going to be smarter than him. Two steps ahead, alright? Now, your first assignment on the case is to check into any new disturbances that may have occured. Suicides, bombings, people reporting blackouts to their memory. Got it?” 

“He can do all that?” Hardy asked. “What kind of a sick, twisted fuck is that?” 

“Now you have a fucking idea what we’re dealing with. And I hope you grasp the severity of this case.” 

Hardy nodded and said, “Shall we get started, then?” 

Jessica walked over to her desk, grabbed her bottle of whiskey and two tumblers, and filled them, pushing one across to Alec. 

“Liquid courage?” she suggested, before rooting back into the desk for the case files she’d already uncovered. 

Hardy accepted the beverage she offered, downing it quickly and turning his attention to the manilla folder in her hand. “What have we got?” 

Jessica opened the folder and handed him the papers inside. “So far I’ve found the names of a dozen suicide victims in the last week that sound suspicious. Plus I received a report from someone in Central Park that says a man approached them about some information they supposedly had, only to blink and walk away moments after they acted confused.” 

“You think that’s Kilgrave,” Alec stated. 

“Yes,” she said. “But I’d like to do some more digging, just in case. As well as figure out who the report was from so we can interview them. Maybe check out the morgue to check the bodies of the suicide victims.” 

“You realize all the documents you’ll need, I presume?” Alec asked. 

She didn’t say anything just cleared her throat.

“Oh, of course. You want to do this off the grid.” Alec swore under his breath. “Bloody hell, okay. What’s our plan?”

“I want you to check into the report person’s name, so we can interview them. I’ll go to the morgue. Kilgrave might notice, and I don’t want to take the chance he might know you’re working with me early on.” 

Hardy nodded. “Let’s get down to it, then.”


End file.
